Roomie Wars Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Kat T. Masen

  Drew happily walked away with the gold packet while I walked back to my room to a livid Jess.

  He begged me to fuck him, bareback, saying that if I loved him, I would do it.

  And I did.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Drew

  It’s the kind of night that dragged on. I got stuck with admin work. Boring and mundane, filling out form after form until my hand cramped. The hospital’s quiet, the emergency ward practically empty.

  The problem is it gives me way too much time to think. I don’t mean to get all obsessive, but I have texted Zoey several times to make sure all’s good between us.

  Despite our shopping trip, something doesn’t add up. I know her too well. And on top of this, I tried my very best to be her friend and ignore my sexual feelings toward her.

  Take, for example, when we got home from grocery shopping. She escaped to her room and emerged in her ratted tee and these skimpy boxer shorts. I could barely peel my eyes away from her legs. The same legs that had been draped over me a million times on the couch usually covered in hair during what she called her ‘winter season.’

  And now, they were calling my name, begging to be touched, to run my fingertips along them until I reached her…

  Never mind.

  “Hey, Drew,” Kristy calls, bumping into my arm on purpose.

  “Hey.” I glance at the chart she’s holding. Lucky Kristy got all the good cases tonight.

  “Admin work?” she asks, followed by a laugh. “Enough to bore you to death. You look a million miles away.”

  “Yeah, just… argh, it’s stupid.”

  “I’ve got five. Wanna grab a coffee?”

  I nod my head and tell the nurse I’ll be back in five minutes. We walk along the quiet corridor taking the elevator down a level. We order our coffees, waiting aside until they’re ready.

  “So, what’s causing Dr. Drew to be all down in the dumps?”

  “I wouldn’t call it down in the dumps. There’s this…” I hesitate, extremely uncomfortable talking about my feelings.

  “Girl,” she finishes. “Has to be a girl making you go cray-cray.”

  “Yes,” I admit. “It’s complicated.”

  “When isn’t it complicated?” She smiles. “So, what’s the deal?”

  “She’s a friend. Been a really good friend for years. In fact, my best friend.”

  “Zoey?” she asks, smiling as she says her name.

  “How did you know?”

  “Because you’d be a fool not to see it. Every time the two of you are in a room, there’s this spark. It’s cute.”

  “Cute is not what I’m looking for.”

  “You know what I mean. So, what’s the problem? You guys already live together. You know each other better than anyone else.”

  “Let’s see. Number one… her ex, Jess. She’s still in love with him,” I point out, trying to control my anger as I say his name.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  If yesterday taught me anything, revenge is also code for ‘I still love him and want him back.’ She still hasn’t denied any of my accusations, and her odd behavior only confirmed it. “I think so.”

  “Okay, that doesn’t sound very convincing. What else?”

  “She doesn’t think of me that way. She always refers to me as just her friend, brother, or roomie,” I complain.

  “She could be in denial. Have you spoken to her about it?”

  “Yes. No. It’s awkward. Why can’t I get her out of my head?”

  Fuck! Did I just admit that out loud?

  That I have feelings for my roommate? Feelings like a crush or something.

  It’s not like I’m in love with her. Am I?

  The barista hands us our coffees, and we both stand at the counter with our sachets of sugar. I tap the packet gently, rip it open then pour it in, simultaneously stirring it.

  “Drew. The question is… do you have anything to lose by expressing your feelings?”

  “Kristy, I have everything to lose if she doesn’t feel the same way.”

  “And you have everything to gain if she does.”

  I think long and hard about Kristy’s words all night. Yes, I do have everything to gain if she feels the same way. Being in a relationship with her doesn’t scare me, but if it doesn’t work out, then what? Can we go back to being friends?

  I decide to go home and try to talk to Zoey about it. Maybe I am being stupid. Maybe I’m conjuring up all these ridiculous feelings in my head because I know it’s difficult to express. She hasn’t directly said she loves Jess and wants to get back together with him.

  Again, this is why I don’t drink. The hangover has clouded any rational thoughts.

  ***

  With my keys in one hand and a bag of bananas in the other, I open the door to a dimly lit apartment. Placing my keys quietly on the side table, I walk softly into the living room, almost tiptoeing, startled to see Zoey sitting on the corner of the couch, hugging her knees. She stares blankly at the television which is switched off. She doesn’t turn to face me, and her stare is oddly terrifying.

  “Zo, what’s wrong?”

  Silence falls over the room. And not even a twitch, a blink of the eye leaves her gloomy face.

  I sit beside her, worried and anxious. “Zoey, talk to me.”

  Her face turns to me, slowly, like one of the clowns at an amusement park. She’s been crying. Her eyes are bloodshot and puffy mixed with fear and terror. Using the back of her hand, she wipes her nose. I lean toward the coffee table pulling out a tissue and handing it to her.

  “I fucked up, Drew.”

  My pulse is racing, paranoid she’s in trouble, that she’s been hurt. “What did you do?”

  “Callie…” she whispers.

  Her short statements stretch out in a sedated tone only cause me to panic further. “Callie what?”

  “Callie came over. She can’t have kids, Drew. She’s lost everything.”

  Nothing she’s saying makes sense. Why would her ex-best friend come over to tell her she can’t have kids. And why would that fact affect Zoey so much?

  “You’re not making sense, Zo. Start from the beginning.” I take her hand and place mine over it gently rubbing her skin to calm her down.

  “Callie’s husband left her. They couldn’t have a family. When they tested to see why, she found out she can’t have kids. She has chlamydia,” Zoey says in one breath, gulping for air as soon as she’s finished.

  How awful for Callie. Chlamydia’s a nasty disease. If left untreated, it can lead to infertility, which in this case it obviously has.

  “I’m sorry, Zoey. But I don’t understand.” I shake my head, confused. “You haven’t seen or spoken to her since she betrayed you. Why the sudden need to knock on your door and tell you this?”

  She continues to weep, discreetly. Wiping her fallen tears with the back of her hand, she wraps her arms around her knees, rocking herself back and forth. “She caught it from Jess.”

  And the penny drops.

  Fuck! He gave her an STD!

  The fucking lowlife degenerate.

  All along I knew this guy was trouble. Screw the drinking problem, this was dead serious. To think of how many women he cheated on Zoey with.

  “I’m scared, Drew.” Her body begins to shake, and within seconds, the loud sobs leave her heaving chest.

  “Why would you be scared, Zo?”

  As soon as the question leaves my lips, my heart tumbles to the floor. Trying to rid my head of the emotions, just for one fucking moment, I attempt to put on my medical-thinking cap.

  If Callie caught the STD from Jess, and they were fucking behind Zoey’s back, chances are Zoey could have been infected.

  Fuck! Calm. The. Hell. Down. Don’t show her you’re scared.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t think of the medical side of things. I’ll take you down to the clinic tomorrow. We’ll have you tested. It’ll be fine, Zo.”

  “H
ow d-do you k-know?” she sputters, momentarily beyond words. “If Callie caught it, why wouldn’t I? And what about Noah?”

  I grit my teeth shaking at the core. The blood in my veins is pumping hard on the verge of combusting. I’m seeing shades of red, crimson, and then I see Jess’s smug face staring back at me. My fists curl into a ball, the tightness in my chest constricting my breathing.

  Do I dare ask the question that’s eating me alive? The rage is consuming me, and madly, I unleash. “You used protection, right?”

  She’s quick to respond in her defense, “Always. But with Jess… I loved him.”

  Savagely, I attack, “Fucking hell, Zoey. Love isn’t a reason for going bareback.”

  “Oh, don’t pull that crap with me, Drew. You, of all people, have probably slipped up once or twice.”

  “No, Zoey. That’s where you’re wrong. I’m always safe. The amount of cases that walk through that hospital door every day is enough for me to protect myself.”

  “So, I’m stupid? I get it.”

  I soften and have no clue why. This is no joke or laughing matter. I shouldn’t be comforting her. What she needs is tough love.

  “Yes, you were stupid,” I tell her in a hushed tone. “Look, I’ll be right there with you. I know you’re scared, but no matter what happens, we’ll get through it together.”

  Shuffling closer to her, my arms cradle her body. She rests her head on my shoulder, sniffling quietly as we sit in silence. The shadows in the dimly lit room taunt us, the wind outside picking up. The weather bureau predicted a storm earlier. Perhaps this is it. The moon is hiding behind the dark clouds refusing to grace us with its presence.

  “Drew,” she whispers softly. “I need to confess something.”

  Here it is. She’s about to tell me that she’s back with Jess, and that’s why she’s so upset. Instantly, my body recoils waiting with barely a breath. I’m mentally preparing my speech. It’s hateful, ugly, and full of colorful words that would even offend a sailor.

  “This is hard for me to say.” Her words linger with renewed wariness. “Extremely hard. And I’m scared it’ll change everything between us.”

  “You’re back with Jess,” I blurt out violently, removing my arms from the touch of her skin.

  “What? No!” She shuffles away from me, offended and surprised. “The night of the wedding. You were drunk, and you made a move on me.”

  Huh? I made a move on her. I’m notorious for making moves, and usually, they result in a nice session of…

  Did I?

  I fucked her.

  No way! This is why she’s been acting all weird.

  I rush to get my words out. “What kind of move?”

  “I don’t know how to say it.”

  Even in the dark, her cheeks appear flushed as she fiddles with the loose thread hanging from one of the cushions. The tension in the room is palpable. What I wouldn’t give to have a bottle of anything in my hand right now.

  “You… you touched me. In places you haven’t touched me before.”

  She says the word ‘touched’ so innocently. Despite what she’s about to tell me, I want to hold her in my arms and kiss her. Promise her that everything will be fine, and no matter what, nothing will change between us.

  But like always, my ego intervenes. “Did we… did we… you know?”

  “No,” she’s quick to answer. “You wanted to but I, um… kinda, you know… finished. Then, you kissed me on the shoulder and walked away.”

  She finished? What does that mean?

  Oh.

  Once again, the penny drops. Damn, there’s been an awful lot of penny-dropping, and metaphorically, it’s sending me broke.

  I’m aware that my palms are sweaty, and the room’s stifling hot. This explains why she’s been acting weird, why I have no clue what happened, and why I found myself shirtless on my bed.

  The question remains—what exactly did I do to her?

  She finished. So she came. I made her orgasm. It had to be more than kissing, more than a grope of a tit. I would have touched her… there. Fuck! My cock stirs beneath my scrubs. Such an inappropriate time to feel anything but concern over her wellbeing and mine.

  Another penny drops. A big fucking one. The loud bang as it hits the floor reminds me of why we’re here. The purpose of this discussion.

  “Okay, shit. You need to tell me everything, Zoey. We’re talking about an STD here. It’s not only about you and me, my job… fuck.” My words choke out with my head spinning out of control. What about my patients? No, it’s okay. I’ve always tested myself regularly and have been clean. Zoey needs to be honest and tell me exactly what happened between us.

  “I… I didn’t even think about that… I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Well, fucking say it,” I yell, frustrated and irate. “Do you not understand the severity of the situation?”

  “Don’t yell at me,” she cries in a panic. “I didn’t know. And I tried to stop you, but you forced yourself on me.”

  “I forced myself on you?” I struggle with the notion. I’ve never forced myself on anyone. What does that even mean? Did I hurt her? God, can this get any worse?

  I switch my tone, apologetic for my actions. I wish I could remember what happened. I want to tell her I’m sorry, that I didn’t mean to hurt her.

  “Zoey, I’m sorry I hurt you. I’d never do such a thing if I were sober. But you need to tell me exactly what happened?”

  “You didn’t hurt me,” she barks, unleashing her frustration. “You want to know what happened? You came at me from behind and rubbed yourself against me with clothes on. You then grabbed my boobs and slid your way down playing with my you-know-what, then stuck your finger in my…” I can hear the struggle in her voice, “… behind.”

  Her words only add to my confusion.

  Boobs.

  You-know-what.

  Behind.

  My brain is scrambling trying to solve the mystery puzzle. I’m stunned and shocked beyond belief that this happened. That my brain has some mechanism in erasing something I desperately want to remember.

  “Wow… that’s um… a lot to take in,” I openly admit.

  Throwing fuel onto the fire, she adds, “And you said you wanted to stick your cock in my pussy.”

  The second she says it, my head spins with the image of her bent on all fours. Imagining how good her moans would have sounded is like music to my ears. The look on her face, mid-orgasm, the delight and sheer pleasure sketched all over her beautiful body.

  Thank God I’m sitting down, barely able to contain the desire that riddles me with guilt at this moment. I rest my elbows on my knees with my head buried between.

  “Fuck, Zoey. I’m sorry. What does this mean?”

  “You tell me, Dr. Drew.”

  I let out a long breath. “Look, if I touched you, it’s safe. Did I… you know… do anything orally?”

  She’s quick to shut me down. “No.”

  “But you said you came?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” she moans, standing up and walking to the other side of the room creating some sort of distance between us. “Yes, you touched me, and I came. There. I said it. Bottom line is that I should have fought harder to stop it. I forgot it was you and got lost in the moment.”

  Glancing aside, and unwillingly, small chuckles escape my mouth. This situation is unbelievable—

  comical to say the least.

  “Why are you laughing?” She watches me, grimacing at my relaxed demeanor.

  “Because this is the most bizarre thing ever. You’re telling me I fingered your ass, and I have no recollection. Don’t you think that’s funny?”

  “No. I think it’s mortifying. And I’m finding it hard to see the funny side of this considering I may be in danger of having a sexually transmitted disease,” she argues.

  I immediately stop laughing. She’s right. This isn’t a laughing matter.

/>   Only one thing has stayed true. I have to be her friend, support her no matter what the outcome, and ignore any romantic feelings or sexual desire toward my best friend, my roomie, who’s hurting right now.

  “First thing tomorrow morning, we’ll go to the clinic. I promise, Zoey, everything will be all right.”

  ***

  “How many sexual partners have you had?”

  Dr. Taylor sits on the stool, chart in hand, waiting patiently for Zoey to respond.

  She turns my way, flushed with embarrassment, her lips moving as she quietly does the calculation. I want to reach out to her, tell her to breathe and answer his question truthfully. Instead, I sit uncomfortably on the plastic chair wishing for this to be over.

  Maybe me being here is not such a good idea.

  “Um…” she pauses. “Six.”

  “And with these six men, how many have you had unprotected sex with?” Dr. Taylor questions, scribbling down notes as Zoey procrastinates.

  She bows her head refusing to look my way, clutching to her gold pineapple which she brought to the clinic. Like that’s going to protect her. My gaze purposely focuses on the poster pinned to the wall. It’s a picture of the human anatomy, and although I’m extremely familiar with it, I study it again welcoming any distraction.

  “Just the one. Wait, what about oral sex?”

  Oh fuck. Did she have to ask that? My hand is gripping the chair, the sweat in my palms sliding against the plastic. The anxiety begins to eat away at me, my stomach churning, anticipating her response.

  “Oral sex as well,” Dr. Taylor confirms.

  “Like three… no, wait, maybe four.”

  I want to block my ears. Rock myself in the corner wishing I could erase everything I’m hearing. A childish act, but I didn’t expect to feel this way. Overcome with jealousy, again.

  Women never make me jealous. A few tried but failed miserably. I’m really not that guy. I never emotionally attached myself to someone to experience that emotion. Does my being jealous mean that I love her? I do but just as friends.

  I don’t even know what love is. Sure, I deeply care for her. I want to protect her from everything and everyone. And most importantly, I only want her to be happy, and for the world to be blessed with her beautiful smile every day.